Secrets and Lies
by cazflibs
Summary: Set between "Rimmerworld" and "Out of Time". When the Dwarfers encounter a female hologram who warns of an approaching simulant threat, Rimmer begins to worry if his nightmares may carry a deeper, more sinister meaning. Rated for violent and sexual themes
1. Sleepless Nights

**Welcome to my brand new fic, folks. I'm particularly proud I'm finally getting this on here as I can honestly say that it's a story that's been seven years in the making! **

**Rated for violent themes - if you're easily offended then please don't read. **

**Reviews and feedback are very much appreciated. Thanks guys!**

She could scream all she liked. It wouldn't do her much good, and Rimmer knew it.

The woman before him sobbed unashamedly, her black mascara running rivers down her flushed cheeks. Her emerald green eyes pierced through her long, mussed black hair that had now been wrenched loose from her usually immaculate bun.

"Please," she begged to the simulant standing behind her, "please don't kill me."

The simulant seemed disinterested, instead pushing her roughly down to her knees. The red warning light on the wall flashed desperately, throwing the scene into stark light and shadow. She drew a ragged breath as the gun was pressed to the back of her head and raised her eyes up so that she looked directly at him.

"How could you?" she wept bitterly. "How could –"

The sound of the gunshot still richocheted through Rimmer's mind as he jerked awake with a strangled yell. Panting heavily, he did a quick stock check of his surroundings and found that sure enough, he was still in his bed in his small cabin on _Starbug_, tangled in the dark grey ship-issue sleeping bag.

He swallowed and released the breath that caught in his throat, mopping his face with the flat of his palm. The red neon glare of the clock showed that according to ship-time, it was most definitely the ungodly hour of three-ish in the morning. Sighing, he quietly gave the instruction to his light bee to furnish him with his usual blue navigation uniform. It was going to another one of those nights.

Rimmer wandered absently down the stairs into the midsection to see Kryten at the scanner table repairing the rip to the sleeve of Lister's biker jacket. They'd been attacked by a shape-shifting GELF earlier that day, the usual business, and in the resulting crash neither the ship nor its crew had sustained injury. That is, except for Lister's prized jacket, which now had a nasty tear down the upper sleeve. Rimmer remembered it had taken several attempts at consoling for Kryten to convince Lister that by the morning it would be as good as new.

The mechanoid pulled out the thread and noticed Rimmer hovering on the stairs out of the corner of his eye. "Sir, why are you awake?" he clucked. Kryten turned his attention back to his sewing. "Can't sleep?"

Rimmer's mouth opened and closed silently before deciding upon the simplest reply. "No."

Kryten swivelled to regard the hologram through one eye before returning to his work. The distinct lack of sarcasm in his tone was unsettling, especially considering that he was conversing with Arnold Rimmer. Without looking up from his task again, he spoke.

"Why don't you sit down, sir?" It was a polite request, not an invitation.

Again, Kryten was surprised when Rimmer wordlessly slumped down into the seat opposite him. Rather than his usual ramrod approach to sitting, he leant forward on his arms and cradled his head. Kryten watched as he rubbed his eyes with his palms, his hands eventually pulling away to reveal the dark circles underneath.

"If I may, sir," Kryten started quietly, "it looks as though it's less of a case that you _can't _sleep, but that something is on your mind that is _stopping_ you." He hooked the needle through the stiff leather and pulled through another stitch. "You look tired."

If the last few years looking after Rimmer had taught him anything, it was that in order to coax him into talking, you cast out your line and wait patiently. A sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a growl rumbled deep from Rimmer's chest. Kryten remained silent, hooking in the needle once more and pulling the thread.

"I've been having nightmares," Rimmer mumbled eventually.

Kryten eyed him carefully. "Of past memories, sir?"

Rimmer shook his head. "No, that's the weird part. It's not of things I've already done, but –" he shuddered involuntarily. "Bad things. Horrible things."

Kryten stopped sewing. In a live human being it would have been perfectly natural to having disturbing dreams. Hell, the things the four of them had been through would be enough to keep a world-class psychiatrist occupied for a lifetime. However, in holograms it was incredibly rare. Holograms were in effect electronic, and the light bee technology, as fantastically intricate as it may be, was more or less incapable of replicating the complexities of the human psyche in the form of dreamstate.

Rimmer massaged his temples. "I mean, I've had dreams before, don't get me wrong, but they were childhood memories, and," he pictured his many, _many_, replays of his liaison with Yvonne McGruder, "erm, other things." He grimaced. "Or on the odd occassion when I fall asleep drunk, like on my first deathday, I'll dream of some really wacky stuff." He remembered his show-stopping Broadway rendition of _Someone to Watch Over Me_. Shame he hadn't been wearing trousers at the time. "But never anything like this."

Kryten nodded, understanding. "Do you recall what happens in these nightmares?"

"Nightmare," Rimmer corrected. "It's the just the one nightmare, the same nightmare in fact." He sighed raggedly. "I've been having it the last three nights now."

"And do you remember what happens in this nightmare?" Kryten pressed gently.

Rimmer's head sank forward in a moan and he gripped the curls of his hair. "I – I see someone die. Killed," he mumbled into his sleeves.

"Do you know them?" Kryten asked urgently. "Sir, do you - ?"

Rimmer's head snapped back up reluctantly. "No!" he growled. He massaged his temples once more. "No," he reiterated quietly, "at least I don't think so. Argh, I don't know her, but something tells me I do." He shook his head defeated. "It's difficult to explain."

Kryten visibly relaxed. Back in the 24th Century, there had been a few cases in later hologram generations where defective programming had caused their hosts to see disturbing visions of their own 'future' or the future of those around them. Some were driven so mad by these persistent nightmares that they even went as far as to 'realise' the grisly murder of their friends or family themselves. Kryten shuddered. First Generation holograms such as Rimmer, despite the more basic technology they utilised, were usually a lot more reliable in keeping killing sprees to a minimum.

"I really can't offer a prognosis at this point, sir," Kryten mused as he returned to his sewing. "I can run some tests in the morning and hopefully ascertain the cause." Fixing the final stitch, Kryten snapped off the loose thread and admired his work proudly. "Ah, perfect," he beamed to himself, before standing and leaving for the galley. "I'll fetch you a cup of tea, sir."

Rimmer gave a small grateful smile that dissipated just as quickly. His sleep-deprived eyes drooped closed but his mind's eye couldn't shake those burning emerald eyes from his memory. He snapped open his eyes once more and slapped his cheeks with both hands.

He was going to need all the caffiene he could get.


	2. The Derelict

**Thanks for the two reviews I've already had, much appreciated. But please don't read and run, reviews always brighten my inbox! Thanks muchly.**

Rimmer sat up on the medi-scanner and swung his legs over the side, arching his spine and rubbing the back of his neck. Despite the thousands of dollarpounds the JMC must have poured, OK maybe trickled, into the medi-scanner technology, could they not have afforded the cushioned upgrade?

Rimmer watched as Kryten's eyes flitted left and right, scanning over the data that reeled up the screen before him. "Anything?" he asked.

Kryten shook his head. "Your t-count is still a little up, sir, but far better than it has been in recent months." He turned to Rimmer with a large, sunny smile. "I can only assume that my recommendation of the worry balls has been a success."

Rimmer sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sure. Plus those long walks along the beach have really done the trick for reducing my stress."

Missing the sarcasm completely, Kryten continued. "However, I'm afraid that I can't find anything else faulty with your light bee, sir." He drummed his cubed fingers on his chestplate nervously. "According to the readouts, it's functioning perfectly normally."

Rimmer growled audibly. "Fantastic. Thanks Kryten. You're about as helpful as a Little Chef waitress."

The Cat suddenly appeared breathless in the doorway, snatching a precious couple of seconds to perfect his already immaculate coiffure before he spoke. "Sorry to get technical guys, but all hands on deck! There's a whatsit on the whodinger!"

The feline raced back to the cockpit leaving Kryten and Rimmer to exchange confused glances. With a mutual shrug they followed quickly, settling into their stations in the cockpit where Lister was already waiting in the co-pilot seat.

"Where ya been guys?" Lister called over his shoulder in his familiar Liverpudlian drawl.

Rimmer had barely touched down in his seat when he leapt back up with a yelp. Glancing down, he spotted a crushed can of Leopard Lager that lay abandoned on the seat of his chair. He snorted with a ferocity that could spurt flame and threw the offending can back at Lister's head.

"_Professionalism_, Lister. Look it up sometime, it _is _in the dictionary."

"Is it next to _prick_ by any chance?" Lister shot back.

"Sirs, please," Kryten clucked as he loaded up his screens. "Mister Lister, could you please provide the latest update?"

Lister threw Rimmer a triumphant yet offensive hand gesture out of Kryten's view before he spoke. "There's a JMC derelict floating around out there," he explained. "Seems like a good time to stock up on some food supplies. I mean, I don't know how much longer I can survive on Chicken 'n Mushroom Pot Noodles, man," he shuddered.

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop being so childish, Lister," he chided. "It's food, isn't it?"

Lister shot him a look over his shoulder. "_You _don't have to eat them, Rimmer."

Rimmer's nostrils flared. It may have been one of the most disgusting foodstuffs in existence, but it was _food _nonetheless. Rimmer had adored the meal they'd experienced with Legion a few months back. It had been years since he'd eaten anything, and the tastes, smells and sensations had been overwhelming. However, since they'd returned to _Starbug_ it had been months since they'd found another derelict to loot for food supplies. Despite Kryten's interests in keeping things as normal and equal between his three cohorts as possible, it had been deemed that the remaining food should be rationed between Lister and the Cat.

"Sirs, I'm picking up a faint distress signal."

Lister swivelled round to face the mechanoid. "You serious?"

Running a quick scan, Kryten's face fell. "Apologies, sir. It looks as though it may an automated SOS generated by the ship's mainframe. There aren't any lifesigns on board."

Rimmer's navigation screen pulled up the latest visuals on the craft before them and he felt a strange wrench of familiarity. The ship wasn't much bigger than _Starbug _but was far more aesthetically pleasing; the main body of the flat, elegantly elongated silver metal was streaked with a long, flowing black stripe along the port side. Without warning, the glare of his screen seemed to explode across his mind's eye as a flurry of images flashed before him in a haze of static. He saw, or perhaps remembered, the streamlined cockpit, the cramped sleeping quarters, even swift, blurred images of indistinct faces all seemed new, yet strangely familiar.

"Hello? Rimmer, man! Are you gonna give me an answer or what?"

Lister's voice wrenched him back to _Starbug's _cockpit, his head resonating with strained electronic feedback. A single word echoed back through the static, which escaped his lips involuntarily.

"Genesis."

Lister swivelled his chair around to face him. "What? Rimmer, I need you to calculate a course and programme it into me pilot guidance system. Can you manage that today, perhaps?" He grinned as he swivelled back to face the viewscreen. "Plenty of time to fantasise about Inflatable Ingrid when we've done our shopping."

Rimmer blinked rapidly before throwing a scowl to the back of Lister's seat. His fingers pawed at the keyboard as he attempted to plot in a course, something he'd done a thousand times before. Yet he found that his mind was too frayed to concentrate and he shook his head defeatedly.

"Kryten, can you finish this for me?" he said distantly as he wheeled back from his station. "Sorry, I can't - I think I'm going to - " He gestured loosely to the screen as he left.

Lister whispered obscenities under his breath and helped Cat handle the piloting. Kryten watched him go for a moment before logging onto the navigation channel remotely. Having plotted the course and programmed it in for the Cat and Lister, he logged into the derelict's mainframe to pull up more information. The log on page flashed up on his screen, detailing everything from the old crew files to current food stocks. But it wasn't the reams of information that stopped Kryten's cubed fingers dancing over the keyboard. It was the ship name that was emblazoned on the top of the screen:

_SS Genesis_


	3. Genesis

The heavy metal door creaked open and hit the back wall with a deep metal clang that resonated around the empty ship. The resulting thud cast a flurry of dust into the air that danced and fell in the red glow of the emergency lighting. Four figures stood silhouetted in the doorway.

The Cat immediately recoiled, his nose wrinkled in a grimace. "Jeez, this place stinks!" he cried.

Rimmer winced as they stepped out of the airlock and into the _Genesis_. "Cat, could you be any louder or shall I lend you a megaphone?" he hissed.

"Sir, there's no need to engage Panic Mode." Kryten tapped his psi-scan with cubed fingers. "The psi-scan indicates that there's no life signs onboard this ship."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Yes, but the psi-scan has been known to be as accurate as British Rail timetables." He folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "Remember the time it insisted that the _SS Socrates_ had no lifesigns, and we were attacked by the Pan-Dimensional Liquid Beast from the Mogadon Cluster?"

The four of them shuddered involuntarily. Yeah, that was a Christmas they were all keen to forget.

They walked through the cold, dark corridors in silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing across the walls. The faulty lighting flickered incessently, punctuating the darkness with flashes of the path before them. Rimmer's brow furrowed as a wonderfully well-timed migraine kicked in. He massaged his temple with his forefingers and grimaced. Perfect.

Kryten's metallic blue eyes dropped to the psi-scan as lights flickered across its surface. "Sirs, the psi-scan indicates that the supplies are stored in the decks just down here." The mechanoid gestured towards a metal staircase that descended into the dark bowels of the ship.

Lister straightened his deerstalker and nodded downstairs. "Then what are we waiting for?" he grinned. "Chicken vindaloo, here I come!"

Kryten and the Cat tailed Lister down and Rimmer reluctantly went to follow. As he gripped the handrail, his vision whited out as flashes of indistinct images slammed into his brain in a crackle of electronic static. Horrific images of violence, blood, pain, screams and cries racked his mind's eye in a torturous grip. He recoiled quickly as his vision returned to him, as if a static shock had just rocketed through his arm. His jaw jabbered silently as the echoes floated up from the dark depths and into silence once more.

The others turned to him as he hovered uncertainly at the top of the stairs, quivering visibly.

Kryten's head cocked to one side in his usual jerky mannerism. "Sir?"

Something horrific had happened down those stairs, and there was no way in hell he was going back down there. Rimmer blinked quickly. _Back?_

Rimmer shook his head, gesturing loosely with his hand. "I, erm - I'm going to stay up here, I think -" he mumbled uncertainly.

Lister scowled up at him. "Rimmer, what the hell? We really don't have time for you to smeg about, we need all the pairs of hands we can get."

Rimmer backed away slowly, the darkness enveloping him. "I-I'm sorry -" he frowned to himself, confused. "I can't, I'm sorry - "

Lister regarded him strangely. Usually Rimmer's cowardice would inspire a string of insults about his general lack of stones, but nothing was forthcoming. After Rimmer had abandoned them on the simulant ship a few weeks before, it was as if he couldn't be bothered with it all anymore. Or with Rimmer.

Lister drew a hand across his nose without breaking his stare with Rimmer. "Whatever," he said tightly. "Guys, you coming?"

Rimmer watched them leave with a sad sense of detachment. Usually when they were exploring abandoned derelicts they'd either stick together or at least pair off. None of them had offered to stay behind with him. Since the whole incident on the simulant derelict and his subequent rescue from Rimmerworld, an awkward and silently accusing air had hung in the air between them like a bad smell. Rimmer cupped his hand over his nose and mouth. Ugh, the Cat had been right, there was a horrible stink in the air. Turning on his heels, he walked off alone into the darkness.

Lister, the Cat, and Kryten continued down the staircase, the footfall of their boots clanging on the metal steps as they descended. Lister's ability to smell had certainly dulled over the years - probably through a combination of his life-long curry obsession that blasted out his senses, and his terrible sense of personal hygiene - but even he could now pick up on a rather strange, almost sour smell. He grimaced. Perhaps some of the supplies had started to rot already.

They reached the storage area and blinked in surprise. The entire main store room was completely empty.

Kryten's plastic features twisted in confusion as his eyes flitted over the psi-scan readings once more. "That's strange. The ship log's last entry details that they had enough food supplies to keep a crew of seven going for six months."

The Cat pulled out a purple silk handkerchief that perfectly matched his outfit and held it over his nose and mouth. "Man, that smell is really getting to me," he mumbled through the material.

Lister turned to the mechanoid. "If they were supposed to have six month's worth of supplies, then where the hell are they all?" He glanced around the room that still danced in the red, flickering glow of the emergency lighting, and saw the entrance to a side store room. "Maybe in here?" he mused aloud, as he lead the group into the room. "After all, it's unlikely someone has beaten us to it, right?"

The last of Lister's sentence died into silence as the three of them took in what could only be described as a scene of horror. The Cat's handkerchief dropped to his side loosely. It wasn't just the lighting that had coloured the floor and walls in a deep red shade.

Rimmer ran his hand along the walls as he made his way along the corridors. He tried to dredge up the intense rush of memories of the ship he'd experienced back on _Starbug_, but nothing was forthcoming. It was as if his mind could only conjur pictures of what he'd seen, as if they weren't quite his to keep.

The corridor led him along to the bright, white cockpit, where computer screens reeled with streams of unread information and flashing warnings. He sat himself down at the navigation station with a sigh, cupping his chin in one hand and typing absently at the keyboard with the other. He always liked checking for software upgrades, updates and patches, anything that would make his job ten times simpler.

As his gaze relaxed, his vision shifted focus from the reams of green text to his sad, pale reflection. His fingers stopped typing and reached up to his 'H' for a brief moment - a habit he'd never kicked over the last six years - clenching in an aggrevated fist as he caught himself before dropping to the keyboard once more.

The screen beeped as it found some guides to scrambler programs. They were perfect for masking _Starbug's_ signal when they were navigating their way through some godforsaken asteroid belt that could be lurking with simulants, GELFs or other generally unfriendly folk. Rimmer smiled contentedly. He loved anything that would keep trouble and confrontation at arm's length. His eyes dropped to the array of technological equipment on his hardlight projection belt and he unclipped a data stick and slotted it into the side of the keyboard.

As his eyes flitted back to the screen, his hand froze, still gripping the data stick. The reflection in the computer screen showed a blurry figure holding a gun towards him, hovering in the doorway to the cockpit to his rear.

Keeping his quivering to a minimum and his head perfectly still as if he hadn't noticed, his eyes flitted across the desk for something, _anything_, that he could use as a potential weapon, but found nothing beyond an abandoned pencil. Yeah, that wasn't going to do much good. It wasn't even sharp.

The radio on his belt crackled into life. "_Sir, we've found the crew_."

Rimmer winced. Apparantly so had he.

"Stand up, hands on your head," a voice barked shakily.

Rimmer blinked in surprise but did as he was told. That had been a female voice. Linking his fingers behind his head he pushed himself out of the seat and turned slowly to face his assailant. Despite the repeated calls echoing in static that cried out persistently from his belt, his jaw slackened as his eyes widened in shock.

It was the woman from his nightmare. His brow furrowed slightly as his eyes scanned her face. Or at least she looked a hell of a lot like her.

She was a lot shorter than him but still looked pretty threatening. The long, dark black bangs of her fringe hung over emerald green eyes that locked with his intently, her features wrinkled in an aggressive snarl. The only thing that gave away her fear was the way that the rad gun thrust towards him shook visibly.

Despite the tense nature of the situation, words slipped unintentionally from his lips as he shook his head, disbelieving.

"No, I saw you. You're dead."

The woman before him blinked in surprise as her eyes seemed to flit just above his eyeline towards his forehead. She cocked an eyebrow as the arm holding the gun dropped to her side whilst the other reached up and swept her long bangs from her forehead, revealing a matching, glistening 'H' on her forehead.

"No shit," she replied flatly.


End file.
